A Christmas Clara
by xstormqueenx
Summary: When the Serpent Brotherhood kidnap Santa Claus, it's up to Clara and her fellow LITs to save Christmas. {And Santa's Midnight Run, AU}.
1. First Stop, Tinsel-Town

**Author's Note:** This is the sequel to _Plato's Step-Daughter._ The reading order so far for all of my Flynn/Clara fiction is: _And She Was Not An Adventure, Plato's Step-Daughter,_ and _A Christmas Clara._ Each new Flynn/Clara story will include an updated reading order. All my Librarians fiction can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **First Stop, Tinsel-Town**

 _Up above candles on air flicker  
Oh they flicker and they flow  
And I am up here holding on to all those chandeliers of hope…_

"Nice polka-dots," Clara observed, coming down the sweeping staircase.

"I feel like I'm out of 101 Dalmatians," Cassandra sing-songed, hanging up a Christmas stocking.

"Better make that _102_ Dalmatians," Ezekiel interjected, examining a candy cane critically.

"Oh, no," Eve said, striding through the doorway, only to come to a stop. "You have got to be _kidding_ me."

Jacob waggled his reindeer antlers at her, making Jenkins roll his eyes.

"First stop, Tinsel-Town," Clara said, swinging a piece of tinsel over her shoulder like a scarf.

"Last stop, Eggnog Creek," Jacob said, dumping a tome on Flynn's desk, only for it to disappear.

"Why does it keep doing that!?" Clara snapped. She'd spent the last week trying to establish some order to Flynn's desk, only to fail miserably

"Because I can," the desk replied nastily.

"At least it gave up insulting my ass," Jacob said, picking up a snow globe.

"I discovered better ways to pass my time," the desk retorted. "The world doesn't revolve around your ass, you know."

"I thought it did," Jacob parried, "and oh my God, somebody is inside this snow globe," he exclaimed in astonishment, doing a double-take.

"Give me that," Jenkins said, snatching it from him. "I wondered where Wyatt Earp had got to."

" _Wyatt Earp?_ " Eve asked, coming over.

"Not the real one," Jenkins said, rolling his eyes again. "An imposter."

"I thought all the magical artefacts where lost with the Library?" Clara asked suspiciously.

"Most of them are - the ones we do have are just flotsam washed up on the shore," Jenkins explained, stowing the snow globe away in a filing cabinet, "like the Golden Fleece and the curiosity cabinet. I don't know what will turn up next. It's so exciting; I can barely sleep with the anticipation."

"Yes, it all sounds rather thrilling," Clara smiled sweetly, making Jenkins glare at her.

"It stole the nutcracker!" Ezekiel yelled, pointing accusingly at Flynn's desk. "Thief!"

"Pot calling kettle black," Jacob muttered.

"Blame the Annex," Jenkins said, coming back over, "not the desk."

"Why not the desk?" Cassandra asked, frowning. "It's alive, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Jenkins said, tilting his head to the side, "but the Annex is just an interface to the Library. The desk is Flynn's workspace, so the Annex will always reset it to his specifications. He's the Librarian, so his settings will always take precedence. He... belongs here."

"And we don't?" Clara challenged.

Jenkins just walked away, flapping his hand at her.

"What was that about?" Cassandra asked, exchanging a glance with Jacob.

"I think he's missing Flynn," Eve said, leaning against a bookcase, ignoring its wolf-whistle.

"We all do," Ezekiel said, casting a mournful glance at the statue he'd made of Flynn, now cluttering up an obscure corner.

Clara turned away, running his hand over Flynn's desk, imagining him sitting there, hunched over, stuffing himself with stuffed mushrooms. It wasn't exactly a memory to warm the cockles of her heart, but it was the first that came to mind, and it suited Flynn, being as random and bizarre as he was.

"Why are you turning this place into my worst nightmare?" Eve then asked, gesturing to the gigantic Christmas tree by the door. "I thought I would find some respite in here."

"Oh, it's all good clean family fun," Jacob said, donning a red nose.

"It's the most joyous holiday of the entire year," Cassandra said, looking at Eve as if she were insane.

"Hot damn it is," Jacob agreed enthusiastically, "nieces and nephews ripping through presents, and grandparents singing - I get to see my cousins once a year, go out and play a little pool - never once got into a bar brawl on Christmas Eve."

"A Christmas Eve bar brawl?" Eve said, raising an eyebrow.

Jacob's eyes grew distant with longing. "Oh, I miss it," he said quietly, his fists clenching by his sides.

"Well, my parents thought Christmas would stunt the development of my intellectual _rigour_ to expose me to supernatural fallacies during my formative years," Cassandra said without taking a breath, nearly going cross-eyed with the effort. "They told me Santa wasn't _real_ at a very young age." She held up three fingers. "I wish I had a little while to believe, but alas, it was not to be."

"Okay..." Eve said, slightly taken aback. "How do you celebrate, Jones?" she hastily asked Ezekiel, turning to him, just in time to see him pocketing a Polly Pocket.

"I just steal a fortune or two," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What about you, Clara?" Jacob asked her, noticing she was suddenly very quiet. "How do you celebrate?"

"I... I usually work through Christmas," Clara said, repressing the memories of the Christmases she'd shared with her parents before they passed on, "I need the lucre."

"Well, I just hunker down and hope for the best until it's over," Eve said, glancing up as Jenkins burst through the doors, pushing a retro looking payphone.

"Listen, Gretchen," Jenkins said testily into the glossy black receiver, "he's not here. If he was, I would tell you, and no, I do not want to end up on the naughty list." Silence. "Why would he be here!?" he exclaimed, turning his back on the eavesdropping others. "Look, I'll be right on it. Just hold onto your jingle bells." He slammed the phone down, before wiping the sweat from his brow, striking a pose reminiscent of Scarlett O'Hara starving on the ravaged acres of Tara.

"What was that about?" Eve asked, brow furrowing.

"Christmas is cancelled," Jenkins said bluntly, "as in Christmas is cancelled for the whole world, and then the _whole_ world will be _cancelled_ because Santa Claus has _disappeared_."


	2. Sunsets And Marmite

**Sunsets And Marmite**

" _WHAT!?_ " Cassandra screeched, looking like she was going to explode.

"Follow me," Jenkins said cryptically, Scarlett O'Hara become Sean Connery during his spy heyday.

"Santa Claus is _real!?_ " Cassandra squeaked, trundling after Jenkins like she was on castors.

"Santa is real?" Jacob echoed, bewildered.

"Santa is _not_ real," Eve said witheringly.

"Santa _is_ real," Jenkins admonished, rounding on her.

"Santa's... _real_ ," Cassandra breathed, looking like she was going to faint.

"Not exactly in the sense that you understand," Jenkins said, handing Clara a piece of parchment depicting a caricature of Father Christmas, making him look very hale and hearty. "The being often called Santa," he continued, handing Ezekiel a moustache cup, "is an immortal avatar of goodwill. All year long, he travels around the world, witnessing and participating in acts of kindness, humanity absorbing all that good spirit, and then on Christmas Eve, he rises into the atmosphere" -

\- "Is this the part where he turns into a talking snowflake?" Clara suggested, setting the piece of parchment down on an obliging table.

"Where he rises into the atmosphere," Jenkins repeated, glaring at her, "releasing all that goodwill back into the human race, recharging... our carbon battery as it were."

Ezekiel just stared at him, slightly shellshocked, still clutching his moustache cup.

"Without Santa, the human race will run out of goodwill," Jenkins said, wringing his hands, "every city on the planet will be burning by Groundhog Day."

"So that's why everybody's cranky around the holidays, because we're running low on goodwill?" Ezekiel said, trying to make sense of the world.

"Precisely," Jenkins said smartly. "Now Mrs. Claus called" -

\- "Mrs. Claus is REAL!?" Cassandra shrieked, nearly startling Jenkins out of his skin.

"Yes, Mrs. Claus is real," Eve said, "and I can't believe I just said that," she said in an aside, looking as shellshocked as Ezekiel.

"She's really real?" Cassandra said, clasping her hands together, pupils dilating into delirium.

"Oh, shiny balls, yes," Jenkins said sarcastically, recovering himself.

"Enough with the shiny balls," Jacob said impatiently, "what's the deal with our disappearing immortal avatar of goodwill?"

"Well, Gretchen said the last time he checked in, he was at a soup kitchen in London," Jenkins said, flipping through an old diary, before glancing up at Clara. "Everybody to the back door," he said suddenly, "Clara's taking you home for Christmas."

* * *

"Have you seen Santa?' Clara said slowly.

"What do you mean I've seen me?" the fake Father Christmas said in a strong Cockney accent. "I'm right 'ere!"

"Not you," Clara said, rolling her eyes, "Santa Claus as in the _real_ Santa Claus."

"But I _am_ Santa Claus," the fake Father Christmas argued.

"You are not Santa Claus," Clara said, advancing on him, "nor are you St. Nicholas or Kriss Kringle" -

\- "She's out of her bacon!" the fake Father Christmas exclaimed, backing away from her.

"I am not out of my mind!" Clara snapped.

\- "Cool it, Clara," Jacob said, grabbing her arm. "What she's trying to say is have you seen a gentleman of a certain age around here?" he said carefully, watching the fake Father Christmas's reaction. "Sort of eccentric acting, maybe?"

The fake Father Christmas thought for a moment, his brow furrowing above his fake beard, making Clara roll her eyes again. Whilst Eve investigated the rest of the soup kitchen, Clara had been saddled with interrogating the locals, because being a native of London herself, she could interpret for the others. Except Cassandra and Ezekiel had done a disappearing act, leaving Jacob to act as Clara's audience. "Some old guy was grabbed earlier," the fake Father Christmas finally said, frowning even further.

"What do you mean he was 'grabbed'?" Clara asked, exchanging a glance with Jacob. The fake Father Christmas launched into a stream of rapid Cockney, Clara just making out titfer, tattoos and Mae West. But she got the gist of it, until he mentioned red rubies, illustrating his point rather graphically, the phrase making Clara turn her nose up in the air. "That's enough of that, thank you very much," she said primly.

"I firmly agree," Jacob said to the fake Father Christmas.

"Is there any languages you don't speak?" Clara snapped, rounding on him.

"I wondered when the penny would drop," Jacob grinned, tucking his hands under his armpits.

"You can take on translating duties," Clara said, turning to leave, "I am _so_ done here."

"What, because me and the guvnor here are sharing our appreciation for Lamia's womanly charms?" Jacob said, hauling her back.

"No, because you're acting like a pair of sexist pigs," Clara retorted, swatting his hand aside. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to tell Eve the Serpent Brotherhood have Santa Claus in their possession."

 _Eyes of hell_ _  
_ _Slithering skin_ _  
_ _Demons at my doorstep_ _  
_ _Won't you let them in…_

* * *

"Are you sure?" Jenkins asked Clara, the others hanging back, kicking their heels.

"He said they had snake tattoos," Clara said, glancing at Eve, "plus he remembered Lamia down to the last detail." Jacob cleared his throat at this, making Clara glare at him.

Jenkins nodded, before turning to the others. "What did you discover?" he fired at Ezekiel.

"That I love Marmite," Ezekiel said fervently, proffering a jar he had stolen from the soup kitchen.

Jenkins just shook his head. "What about you, Cassandra?" he said, turning to her this time.

"That a hexagon is more beautiful than a sunset," she replied, a tremulous smile trembling on her lips.

"It was a set-up," Eve said abruptly, "guy came in with a shot-gun, pretended to rob the place, driving Santa out into the open. Then, bam, he was gone, taken."

"Liam Neeson, where are you when we need you most?" Ezekiel said, stowing his jar of Marmite back in his back pocket.

"Why do they need to lure him out in the open?" Clara asked, confused.

"Santa prefers to be incognito," Jenkins explained, picking up a crystal ball, "watching the world in disguise, and so forth."

"So do we storm the Serpent Brotherhood's headquarters or what?" Jacob said, rolling his sleeves up.

"Only if we knew where they were," Jenkins said, wagging his finger at him.

Everybody turned to Cassandra.

"What?" she said incredulously. "Has my hair turned green?"

"Or pink," Clara muttered, remembering last time round.

"Did the Serpent Brotherhood take you to their headquarters?" Eve asked Cassandra quickly, referring to the time Cassandra turned traitor.

Cassandra paled slightly, but she nodded. "I met their boss," she said, "Dulaque or something."

Jenkins dropped the crystal ball, its smash startling everyone.

"What?" Clara snapped at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jenkins shook his head, recovering himself. "We need to take a little trip down memory lane," he said, turning to Cassandra, "or Santa's dead by midnight."


	3. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

Despite the fact Dulaque had blindfolded Cassandra during her journey to his headquarters, by flicking through her thoughts, and Ezekiel working his wizardry, hijacking London's CCTV system, they'd managed to locate the building that served as the Serpent Brotherhood's base. It was called Chamberlain House, built in the heart of London's most illustrious district, classic Victorian, designed by Bevans, Jacob waxing lyrical about its window-frames, his eyes taking on a consequently glassy look as he described the exact shade of pale blue they had been painted.

"I thought you were the expert on art, not architecture," Eve pointed out, casting a concerned glance at a now rather pale looking Clara.

"Architecture is art we live in," Jacob pointed out irritably.

"Never mind squabbling," Jenkins said, glaring at them, "save Santa!"

"We are," Ezekiel said, shutting his laptop down, "after we take a coffee break."

"But we never take coffee breaks," Cassandra said, brow furrowing.

"We do now," Ezekiel said, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.

"No, we don't," Eve said, grabbing his ear and hauling him to his feet.

"Ow!" Ezekiel yelped.

"Looks like you're back on tour guide duties," Jacob said to Clara, making her start violently.

"I'm not taking on any duties," she snapped, startling him, "tour guide, translating or whatever."

"Chamberlain House seems like your kind of gaff though," Jacob said, gesturing to her pearl grey cardigan buttoned up to the chin, and the black dirndl skirt that swept the floor, tripping Clara up at every turn.

"That's because it was _my_ gaff," Clara hissed, startling everyone this time.

* * *

 _Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother_ _  
_ _She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh_ _  
_ _And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no…_

"I was born and raised in Chamberlain House," Clara said quietly, "when my father died, it was sold, and I never set foot in it again."

"Where did you live afterwards?" Jacob asked curiously.

"Here and there," Clara said evasively, "then I moved to America, and here I am."

"Here you are," Jacob echoed, eying her oddly.

"Here _we_ are," Clara corrected him, coming to a stop outside Chamberlain House, her childhood home, the last place they'd been a family. She stood there, studying the familiar front door, solid oak, shutting out the world. Glancing around her, she knelt down, checking for the loose brick her father had shown her when she was five. Feeling her way with her finger-tips, she found it, pulling it out, revealing a rather rusty looking key.

"They've probably changed the locks, Clara," Jacob pointed out as she picked it up.

"They haven't," Clara said, brow furrowing, "I wonder why?"

"Maybe they were waiting for you to come home," Jacob suggested strangely, making Clara glance sharply at him. Checking over her shoulder, she put the key in the lock, turning it, the flick of the wrist as familiar as an old song, and then they were inside, the smell of beeswax hitting her like a blow. "You okay?" Jacob asked her, taking her arm.

But Clara just shook him off, disappearing through a nearby doorway instead, Jacob following her, only to find himself in heaven, surrounded by ancient artefacts and rare paintings, the sunlight streaming through several casement windows, forming pools of light on the polished floorboards. The walls were oak-panelled, a large marble fireplace dominating the room, Clara coming to a stop in front of it, her gaze travelling upwards, finding her mother's painted one.

"Who's she?" Jacob asked in a hushed whisper, appraising the portrait with an expert eye.

"My mother," Clara said quietly, acknowledging what she already knew.

Jacob studied the woman's serene face, the way her dark hair framed it, a harmony of line Clara had inherited. But her eyes were blue, when Clara's was brown, her nose straight when Clara's was snub. She wasn't beautiful, but she possessed a presence, one that radiated from the frame. "Why is it here?" he said, turning to Clara. "Isn't it yours?"

"It was sold with the house," Clara said tiredly. "It's very valuable apparently" -

\- "A sound investment on my part," a voice said, making them whirl around, only to see a man with a strange skull-like face emerge from behind a painting depicting the Lady of Shallot. Clara stared at him, something about his impossibly dark eyes setting off a tripwire in her memory, making her falter before she found it.

"Buckingham Palace," she breathed, taking a step back. "You - you were there, that night we got the Crown back."

"We danced together," he said, taking a step forwards.

"And you are?" Jacob asked, making the man glance at him.

"Ah, Stone," the man said, folding his hands behind his back, "I've read your work, you're quite gifted. Pity you don't have the courage to publish under your own name."

"Leave him alone," Clara said, recovering herself. "Who are you?"

"You already know," the man said, studying her strangely, "more than anyone."

Clara just stared at him, scared, the sound of his voice starting to unlock something within her.

"Hello darling," a woman drawled from behind them, making Jacob whirl around, only to see Lamia in all her black satin skirted glory.

"Darling!?" he exclaimed, trying not to look at her legs. "You tried to murder me with a sword!"

"I don't just use the katana on anybody, cowboy," she purred, bestowing the ghost of a wink on him.

"Ninjas in Oklahoma," Clara whispered, making Lamia's head jerk up.

"Oh, you're alive," she said scornfully. "Don't worry, I'll remedy that for you." But as she stepped forwards, the man did too, halting her with his hand.

"Did you do something naughty, Lamia?" he said silkily, making Clara and Jacob glance at each other. "Something you might have forgotten to tell me about, hmmm?"

Lamia's lips thinned. "Clara got in my way," she said stiffly, "so I got her out of it."

The man studied Lamia for a moment before suddenly backhanding her across the face, making Jacob start forwards, shouting "Hey!" But the man just ignored him, Lamia raising her hand to her bleeding lip, the silence drilling into Clara's skull. "Get out of my sight," the man said quietly, enunciating every word. For a moment, Lamia hesitated, before turning on her heel and leaving, slamming the door behind her, making the windows shake in their frames. "I apologize," the man said, inclining his head to Clara, "whatever she did, won't be repeated, I assure you."

"Excalibur's gone, buddy," Jacob snapped, "so I don't think Lamia will be slaying Clara with it anytime soon."

The man froze, taken aback, before recovering himself, retreating behind the grand piano instead. He signalled for somebody to come forwards, making Jacob and Clara glance up, only to see several burly looking men step out of the shadows, armed with swords. "Good, no guns," he said, trailing a finger across the piano keys, filling the room with discordant notes, "I don't want a mess in here. Blood is so hard to get out. But leave the girl, she is not to be touched." His gaze settled on Clara briefly, reclaiming what was already his, making her take another step back.

"Ming," Jacob said suddenly, snatching up a blue vase. "Look at the design and underglaze," he continued, brandishing the vase at a bewildered Clara, "quite brilliant, and examine the signature - what do you think this is, late 1426, maybe early 1427?" He flung the vase up in the air, making the man start forwards, Jacob catching it with ease. "I reckon there must be only one of these in the whole world," he said, now twirling it like a baton, "what do you reckon Clara?" He prodded her in the side with it, making her slap his hand away.

"You wouldn't," the man said from between gritted teeth, watching as Jacob began to pass the vase back and forth between his hands.

"I would," Jacob said smartly, suddenly throwing the vase up in the air, making the group of men rush to catch it. As they hurtled towards them, Jacob darted to the side, Clara hard on his heels, Jacob picking up precious object after precious object, hurling them through the air, even as it hurt him. It was a sin to endanger such beauty, but he had to. At least his opponents were good at catching. Seeing Jacob was carving a path towards the door, Clara snatched up a bust of Nefertiti, chucking it over her shoulder, before grabbing a portrait of Lucrezia Borgia and throwing it like a frisbee, and then they were gone, making a home run, leaving what had once been home behind.

* * *

"Did the distraction work?" Jacob asked, bent double, Clara collapsing against the wall.

"I don't know," Clara gasped, glancing round, "I don't see anybody."

"Give them a minute," Jacob said, straightening up, "if the worst comes to the worst, we're going back in there."

Clara nodded, closing her eyes, leaning her head back against the brick. Whilst she and Jacob had all but announced their entrance, the others had entered rather more discreetly, down the chimney to be precise. All Clara could hope was that the rumpus she and Jacob served up had bought them enough time to bust Santa out. It had unsettled her more than she'd shown, having to step back inside her old house, old memories assailing her like enemies. But seeing the painting of her mother again had almost broken her, resurrecting all that Clara had sought to crush.

"Who was that guy?" Jacob asked, startling her.

"He was waiting for me," Clara said before she could stop herself, "I mean, he was waiting for _us_ ," she said hastily, shaking her head, "or it looked like that anyways. He - he must have known we were coming."

"He seemed to know you," Jacob pointed out, brow furrowing.

"He was at Buckingham Palace," Clara reminded him tersely, "that night we got the Crown back."

"Do... do you think he was Dulaque?" Jacob suggested carefully, studying her for her reaction. He hadn't missed the strange co-incidence of the Serpent Brotherhood having set up base in Clara's old house, or the way the man had reacted to Clara, looking at her as if he couldn't look upon her face enough. Something was afoot, and something was amiss, Jacob thought, his brow furrowing even further. The man knew Clara in some capacity she didn't seem aware of. Akatha appeared to have known Clara as well, even if Clara clearly didn't recognize her, and then there was the whole hoo-ha with Jenkins, Clara and the Crown, Jacob still finding it hard to forget the sight of Clara being possessed.

"Maybe, I don't know," Clara snapped, half turning away from him, inadvertently remembering Jenkins dropping the crystal ball, the way he'd looked at her when Cassandra had said Dulaque's name.

Jacob studied Clara, eyes narrowing, only to find his thoughts being bent in the direction of Lamia and her long legs. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the mental image of Lamia's well-turned ankles only grew stronger, pushing all other concerns aside, Jacob finally surrendering to the Library's magic that still clung to Clara, surrounding her like a silent benediction. Eve, Cassandra and Ezekiel were easily conquered, being too susceptible, remaining oblivious to what would reveal Clara's true self, but Jacob had proven more resistant to its effects. He'd been living a lie nearly all his life, rendering him super-sensitive to deception, making it harder to deceive him. But the Library had found his weakness, that hidden pull towards Lamia, coveting the enemy, and so the Library had swiftly struck this sore spot, crippling him. It was as Flynn had theorized on the riverbank, that the Library was still shielding Clara, even now.


	4. Up A Paddle Without A Creek

**Up A Paddle Without A Creek**

"Hello troops!" Cassandra called, making Clara and Jacob whirl around, only to see the others approaching, Cassandra clutching the arm of an old man, his face tan beneath the deep purple velvet hat pulled low over his brow.

"Santa?" Jacob said, doing a double-take. This wasn't how he'd imagined Old Nick, suited and booted like a businessman.

"Jacob Stone," Santa said cryptically, "and Clara Hartley," he said, turning to her, holding her gaze, making Clara feel like he was studying her very soul.

"Right, let's get him to the nearest door Jenkins can hone in on," Eve ordered, only for Santa to start forwards, startling her.

"No, Santa needs to be at the North Pole tonight," he said abruptly, "and Santa needs his sleigh."

"You talk in the third person too?" Ezekiel said, intrigued, ignoring Eve's glare.

"Where is your sleigh?" Cassandra asked excitedly. "And can I sit in it?"

"Santa hid it nearby," he replied, smiling down at her, "along the railway tracks, and yes, you can sit in it, Cassandra Cillian."

Cassandra did a little dance of joy, clasping her hands together.

" _Later_ ," Eve said, making Cassandra pout. "As for now," Eve continued, whipping the hat off Santa's head and jamming it on Ezekiel's instead, "I'll escort _Santa_ to his sleigh, whilst the rest of you rustle up another distraction. Savvy?"

* * *

Ezekiel skipped past where Clara and the others were hiding round a corner, Santa's hat falling across one eye, lending Ezekiel a rakish air. "Hey!" Clara said, hastily grabbing his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Did it work?" she asked, forcing him to face her. She'd shoved Ezekiel into a passing taxi, Ezekiel slumping low in the back seat so only Santa's distinctive hat was visible; Clara hoping against hope the Serpent Brotherhood would take the bait. She and the others had watched the taxi slow down in front of Chamberlain House, just as Clara had requested, giving the driver an extra fiver for his troubles, before doing their own disappearing act.

"They followed me," Ezekiel beamed, "but I shook them off. As I do. Rather well, I must say." At this, he did a strange twirl, reminding Clara of Flynn for a moment.

"Are you okay, Zeke?" Cassandra said, exchanging a worried glance with Jacob.

"Top of the world," Ezekiel said, before skipping away, the others following him, confused. Somehow Clara found herself standing at the top of some steps, watching Ezekiel and a motley band of children perform a rousing rendition of "Deck The Halls', before Ezekiel suddenly started racing round in circles, the children enthusiastically following him, rather like the rats did with the Pied Piper, whilst all the while chanting Christmas carols, Ezekiel leading the chorus from on high.

"He's lost his bacon," Jacob said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Bacon?" Cassandra said, confused.

"Bacon and rind," Jacob explained, confusing her further.

"Please," Ezekiel said, clasping Clara by the shoulder, "feel free to join in." And with that, he was off again.

"Not in these shoes," Clara muttered, taking out her phone. She still didn't know how to text, and apart from Flynn's random phone calls, she hardly used her mobile, regarding it in the light of a necessary evil. She speed-dialled Eve, a little trick that had taken her two days to learn, gnawing her lip until Eve picked up. "Where in the name of Persephone's pomegranate seeds are you?" she hissed down the line, turning her back on Cassandra and Jacob.

"I'm taking a road-trip with Kriss Kringle," Eve said, sounding like she was at the end of her tether.

"What?"

"Santa lost his sleigh," Eve explained tiredly, "no, wait, _Nick_ lost his sleigh, and would you stop ho-ho-ing!" she yelled, nearly deafening Clara. "Is everything okay at your end?" she then asked Clara, sounding like she was speaking through gritted teeth.

"Something's wrong with Zeke," Clara said, glancing over to where he was now dancing round a gigantic Christmas tree.

"Oh," Eve said, an ominous silence following her 'Oh'.

"What do you mean, 'oh?' " Clara asked, confused.

"I'm having a few teething problems with Nick here," Eve said, the line breaking up, "he keeps switching his face, like a sort of demented blurring" -

\- "Demented blurring?" Clara said, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead. But static was all the answer she got, forcing her to hang up. She turned back to the others, wringing her hands, not sure what to do next.

"We're up a paddle without a creek, aren't we?" Cassandra observed.

"Something like that," Clara agreed.

* * *

They burst through the Annex doors, having finally managed to pry Ezekiel away from the gigantic Christmas tree, taking a full ten minutes to do so, and only by luring him with a Christmas cracker.

"Colonel Baird is currently stranded in Canada," Jenkins said, no standing on ceremony, "which means we're up a paddle without a creek."

"He won't make to the North Pole in time," Cassandra translated, brow furrowing as Ezekiel ran over to their own Christmas tree, embracing it like it was an old friend.

"Oh how I've missed you," he declared, pressing his cheek against a green branch.

"What's wrong with him?" Jenkins said, looking at Ezekiel like he was something nasty he'd stood on.

"Zeke, we literally don't have time for this," Jacob said, beginning to lose patience.

"How about we all just hold hands, bow our heads and be grateful that we're all here safe together?" Ezekiel said, grabbing Cassandra and Clara's hands, his grip making them wince.

"You have a soot stain on your cheek," Jenkins said witheringly.

"I don't feel so well," Ezekiel said suddenly, before just as suddenly doing a runner up the sweeping staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

"What's _wrong_ with him?" Clara asked, confused.

"It's the hat," Jenkins said, turning to her.

"The hat?"

"It's imbued with Christmas magic," he explained, "so I suggest you take it off him, and sooner rather than later."

"Nah," Jacob said, "let's enjoy the show a little longer, shall we?"

Jenkins just rolled his eyes, but he let it slide. He fancied delivering a little vengeance on Ezekiel Jones, especially after the incident involving breaking his favourite porcelain plate **,** and the consequences that had come afterwards **.** Ezekiel had pinned the blame on Clara and Jacob, leading Jenkins to exact his own revenge on them, only for all hell to break loose after Flynn found out about it.

"Wait, does it have to be the North Pole?" Cassandra said, interrupting Jenkins's reverie.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just watch and listen," Cassandra said, tapping the side of her nose.

 _I've been thinking 'bout all the times I've lost my head_ _  
_ _I've been thinking 'bout all the things I never said_ _  
_ _I won't think about all the things that could go wrong_ _  
_ _Nothing left to shout, cause we got it going on…_


	5. We'll Be Good

**We'll Be Good**

Clara watched as Cassandra paced up and down, talking very fast about ley-lines and Santa releasing the magic at midnight, the power travelling through the world, using the ley-lines to do so. Apparently the Northern Lights were the most powerful, due to the legend of Santa, the North Pole and polarity - or so Jenkins had so grimly said. Now Jacob was trying and failing to unleash the giant glowing sphere Flynn used to illustrate his frequent soliquoys.

"It's not happening, Jake," Clara said, examining her nails.

Jacob slammed the sphere down, put out.

" _Okayyy,_ " Cassandra said, giving him a funny look, "I'm going to need satellite maps, a farmer's almanac, and plasma quantum dynamics charts. Also some of that - I'm sorry," she said, whirling around, "do you smell _hot chocolate?_ "

At this, Ezekiel came down the sweeping stairway, still wearing Santa's hat. To Cassandra's joy, he was carrying a tray bearing five mugs of hot chocolate, using Jenkins's best ones for the purpose, much to Jenkins's silent fury. Clara raised an eyebrow at Ezekiel's frilly red and white polka-dotted apron, but he just beamed at her, setting the tray down on Flynn's desk, ignoring its angry mutterings about violation of personal space. "Don't forget the cinnamon sticks!" he trilled, his head snapping up at the sound of a loud beep. "Oh!" he declared, running backwards. "That'll be the cookies!"

"Okay, can I keep him?" Cassandra said, picking up a mug, inhaling its aroma, much to Jacob's amusement.

"Where did he get that apron?" Clara asked, confused.

"Don't look at me," Jenkins retorted.

"I wasn't!" Clara protested.

"You were," Jenkins said darkly.

* * *

"Tell me you have a plan, Jenkins," Eve bellowed down the line.

"No, I don't," Jenkins said, "but Cassandra does."

"Wait a" -

\- "Okay, listen to me," Cassandra said, speaking over Eve, "I don't think we need to go all the way to the North Pole - I think we can tap in using the Northern Lights as a plasma conductor into the ley-lines" -

\- "Want a cookie?" Ezekiel yelled, pausing from putting them into paper-bags. Clara had lost count at a hundred.

"Please be quiet," Cassandra said coldly, taking a sip of her hot chocolate, her tenth one, shamelessly exploiting Ezekiel.

"Are you drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies whilst I freeze my ass off in the middle of nowhere?" Eve accused, sounding irate.

"How do you know it's hot chocolate?" Clara asked, confused.

"Because I can smell it!" Eve exclaimed, her voice crackling strangely.

"We need the strongest Aurora Borealis as possible," Jenkins said to Cassandra, ignoring Eve.

"Which happens over Alaska," Cassandra supplied, bestowing a smile upon Jacob who just waved a cookie at her, his fifteenth one.

"Why can't I stop stuffing!?" Ezekiel demanded, a rare moment of sanity.

"I often ask myself the same thing," Flynn said, sauntering past, stuffing himself with stuffed mushrooms.

"Flynn!" Clara screeched, launching herself at him.

"My love!" Flynn screeched back, catching her in his arms.

Jenkins cleared his throat pointedly. "Aren't you supposed to be"-

\- "I am," Flynn said, glaring at Jenkins, "I was just passing through." And with that, he was gone, leaving a slightly stunned Clara in his wake.

"What an interesting interlude," Jenkins observed, "and now back to the matter at hand..."

"You have to go to Alaska," Cassandra informed Eve.

"How am I supposed to get to Alaska!?" Eve exclaimed. "And wait, did I just hear Flynn" -

\- "There's a commercial shipping airport near you," Jenkins said, cutting across her, only for Eve to cut across him in turn.

"What part of out of gas don't you understand?" Eve flared up, her voice echoing oddly now.

"Colonel Baird, I'll send Ezekiel and Clara up ahead to arrange a plane to transport you to the site of the Aurora Borealis," Jenkins said impatiently, "and Mr. Stone and Ms. Cillian will meet you at a small town very near you, but its name currently escapes me, so just walk until you reach it. They'll get a car and take you and Santa to the airport."

"Santa's been very silent," Jacob said, swallowing the last of his sixteenth cookie.

"Santa is here, Jacob Stone," Santa said rather creepily down the line.

"I'm a good boy," Jacob said before he could stop himself.

"Jacob Stone is a good boy," Santa repeated.

"Enough, Nick," Eve said, sounding at the end of her tether again. "And don't ho!"

* * *

Clara dug her mittened hands into her pockets, her breath escaping her lips in clouds. The collar of her bottlegreen peacoat was turned up, shielding her from the cruel blasts of the winter wind, a tammy hat pulled low over her eyes, a scarf wound round her neck and flung across her shoulders. Ezekiel was similarly wrapped up, but unlike her, he was prancing about like it was May Day. They entered the office, only to be confronted by the sight of an extrememly depressed young man, his face tripping him, radiating despair.

"Um, is that the plane being held for Colonel Baird?" Clara asked, grabbing the back of Ezekiel's coat, stopping him from skipping around the man's desk.

"Yeah, I'm your pilot," the man said dourly, reminding Clara of Jenkins.

"Midnight flight on Christmas Eve, eh?" Ezekiel chirped, Clara still clutching his coat. "Can there be anything more wonderful?"

"You trying to see the sleigh?" the pilot asked, making Clara do a double-take.

"Sleigh?" she said, pretending to raise an eyebrow.

"People try do that sometimes," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Something wrong with you, mate?" Ezekiel boomed, making Clara wince. "You don't seem to have the traditional holiday spirit."

"I promised my fiance we would spend tonight together," the pilot suddenly said in a rush, startling Clara, the tears welling up in his eyes, "and then I got called on this flight."

"Well, we won't be long," Clara said imperiously, recovering herself, "it's a matter of urgency actually, or we wouldn't be here, in the middle of nowhere" -

\- "But you'd rather be with her, your love," Ezekiel said to the pilot, cutting across her, "holding her tight, on this winter night" -

\- "Ezekiel, shut up," Clara hissed from the corner of her mouth.

" _You'd_ rather be with Flynn tonight, counting stars, making wishes," Ezekiel said dreamily, his dark eyes becoming distant. "O Christmas night, holy night, I have you, I have you all" -

\- "Just ignore him," Clara said to the pilot, stepping in front of Ezekiel. "He's like this all the time. Ever the joker!"

"It would be your Christmas wish, wouldn't it?" Ezekiel pressed, stepping front of Clara.

"More than anything," the pilot said fervently.

Ezekiel started laughing, startling Clara, his laugh then becoming a desperate cackle, his face contorting, his body hunching over. "Yus, no, yus, no, no," he muttered, his head whipping from side to side, "yus, no, yus, no, yus, no" -

\- "Ezekiel," Clara said warningly, reaching for his hat, only for him to suddenly smash her hand aside.

"Do not touch the hat," he breathed, suddenly looming over her.

Clara just stared at him, scared despite herself.

"Go and be with the one you love!" Ezekiel yelled at the pilot, jabbing his finger in his face. "Don't listen to me - yus - we're okay without you - don't leave, we can't fly a plane - cookies and hot chocolate, I am a snowflake fading away" -

As Ezekiel started whipping his head from side to side again, Clara sidled away from him, forcing a smile on her face. "Um, I suppose you should go," she said to the pilot, the words being wrenched from her, "my friend isn't quite himself." The pilot nodded, before grabbing his coat and fleeing, frightened she might change her mind. Clara watched him go before rounding on Ezekiel, slamming her hands into his chest. "What the hell are you doing, Zeke?" she snapped, making him twitch a bit more.

"Love is the supreme power," Ezekiel gabbled, suddenly shoving wads of cash into her hands, "it trumps everything, and what in the name of Long John's long johns am I saying!?"

"It's the hat, Zeke!" Clara cried. "Take it off!"

"I can't!" Zeke almost wept, clutching his head. "Only Santa can take it off!"

"Well, we've just lost our one chance of reaching him," Clara said, flopping down on a chair. "Way to go, Zeke."

"Cookie?" Ezekiel beamed, making Clara bury her face in her hands.

 _It's unclear now what we intend_ _  
_ _We're alone in our own world…_


	6. The Witching Hour

**The Witching Hour**

"Hello, troops," Eve said, striding into the office, Jacob, Cassandra and Santa piling in after her, "pilot in the plane?"

"Not exactly," Clara said stiffly.

"He's spending this most glorious holiday with his fiancé," Ezekiel boomed, startling everyone but Clara, "Merry Christmas, one and all!"

Eve just stared at him like he'd defecated in her presence.

Santa just smiled, a nasty little knowing smile that made Clara see red. She'd just endured Cher's entire back catalogue being sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells' by Ezekiel and she couldn't take anymore. "Hey, you," she snapped, Santa glancing up at her, making him point to himself. "Yes, you," she said, advancing on him, "this is all your doing. So bloody undo it, savvy?"

"Santa is not savvy," he said, frowning.

"Ezekiel's losing his bacon," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "all thanks to your stupid hat!"

Santa sighed heavily before whipping the hat off Ezekiel's head, and placing it atop his own again.

"We have a plane, but not a pilot," Eve said slowly, returning to the matter at hand.

"You said hold the plane, so we are, sort of," Ezekiel argued, "Happy Holidays!"

"Ignore Ezekiel Jones," Santa said loftily, "Santa can fly large objects through the air."

"Be my guest," Eve said, holding the door open for him.

* * *

"Oh, my God," Clara said as something flashed past the window, "was that _Flynn?_ "

"You should know," Ezekiel said grumpily, "he's your boyfriend."

"I think I just seen Flynn fly past on a broomstick," Clara breathed, pressing her face against the glass.

Jacob just shrugged his shoulders.

"We're in the cargo bay of a cargo plane on Christmas Eve," Cassandra said gloomily. "Can life sink any lower?"

"We're flying, Cassie," Jacob reminded her, "not sailing on a ship."

"Well, it's not exactly festive," Cassandra pouted.

"Don't say that word," Ezekiel grimaced.

All of a sudden, alarms started ringing, red lights flashing, making them all clutch each other. To Clara's horror, the rear door started opening, the wind roaring through the bay, snow whirling in its wake, Ezekiel screaming like a complete girl. Then Santa's lost sleigh descended from the sky outside, Dulaque and Lamia at the helm, faces mockingly triumphant. As the rear door clanged shut again, Cassandra got up, fists clenching at her sides.

"What kind of person steals Santa's sleigh?" she challenged childishly.

"And what kind of person backstabs their friends quite literally?" Dulaque smiled, his gaze flickering to Clara, making her take a step back.

Cassandra paled, falling silent.

"We saw your fancy man," Lamia fired at Clara, "but we sent him on his way."

"Enough of that oaf," Dulaque snapped, rounding on Lamia.

"What do you want?" Clara said, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

"Santa, obviously," Dulaque said, clasping his hands together. "If you don't, you all die. If you do, you still all die. Excepting yourself of course," he said, inclining his head to Clara.

"Why?" Clara whispered as he and Lamia drew their swords.

But before Dulaque could answer, everything tipped sideways, Santa suddenly collapsing in the cabin, sending the plane into a downward spiral, knocking everyone off their feet. But by the time Eve set the plane on autopilot, dragging a now unconscious Santa into the cargo bay, it was only to find the others pinned against the walls, Dulaque and Lamia holding swords to their throats, Clara caught between what she knew and what she couldn't know.

* * *

"Ah, quick service," Dulaque drawled, appraising Eve, "nothing like it."

"You can't have him," Clara said, stepping forwards.

"Dulaque cannot have Santa," Santa echoed, struggling to raise his head from Eve's shoulder.

"What's wrong with him?" Eve demanded.

"We poisoned him with holly and mistletoe back at Chamberlain House," Dulaque said, looking bored, "a piece of hedge magic that even Morgan Le Fay would be proud of."

"Why are you doing this!?" Clara screamed, startling them all.

Dulaque hesitated, looking troubled as well as taken aback at her outburst. "I have killed more Librarians than you've seen stars, dear one," he said gently, "it is something you used to appreciate, the spectacle of their deaths amusing you above all else."

Clara just stared at him in disbelief, feeling the storm rising in her heart.

Lamia looked at Clara, jealousy seizing her, remembering what had passed back at Buckingham Palace, Guinevere laying claim to her Lancelot once more, barring Lamia out. With a snarl, she grabbed Jacob, flinging him to the floor, making Clara start forwards, only for Dulaque to raise his hand, immobilizing her.

"Don't make me do this, Gwen," he said quietly, unaware his words were already fading from her.

"You can't have Santa," she spat again, shaking her dark hair back.

"Half the Round Table!" Ezekiel yelled, startling everyone. He'd remembered Akatha's Arthurian reference, even as he hadn't understood it, Santa's magic still addling his brain, making him shout it out.

"You will pay for using these words in my presence," Dulaque hissed, before whirling on Lamia. "Disable the plane," he ordered, Lamia then throwing open the control panel, stabbing it with her sword, sending sparks flying.

Clara stared at Ezekiel, and before anybody could stop her, she sprung forwards, snatching the hat from Santa's head. In a flash, it was on Dulaque's head instead, falling over his eyes, making him instantly cut a ridiculous figure. "My greatest wish is that you and Lamia would so kindly take your departure," Clara said, slumping against the wall, "that you would leave Santa here, safe and sound. It would make me so happy - in fact it would make my Christmas, all our Christmases actually."

"It would make my year," Jacob said, glaring at Lamia.

"It would make my life," Ezekiel added.

"It would be the icing on top of the cake," Eve said, struggling to support Santa.

"The absolute cherry," Cassandra chirped.

Dulaque stood there, swaying, his brow furrowing, eyes clouding over. "Lamia, we're leaving," he said uncertainly, the hat working its magic on him.

"What!?" Lamia exclaimed in disbelief.

"We're leaving," he said, clambering into the sleigh.

"No, we're not" -

\- "We are!" Dulaque roared, cowing Lamia into uncharacteristic submission. Without a word, she climbed into the sleigh beside him, her jaw tightening as Jacob gave her a sarcastic little wave. The rear door opened with a snap of Dulaque's fingers, and then they were going, going, gone, an obliging gust of wind whipping the hat off his head, sending it flying back into the cargo bay. Clara picked it up, setting it atop Santa's head again.

"That really worked," Ezekiel said in disbelief.

"I know," Cassandra said, eyes wide with wonder.

"Won't he just come back?" Jacob said, gesturing to the hat.

"The magic lingers," Clara explained, gesturing to Ezekiel, who was now humming 'Deck The Halls' again. "It should linger long enough to send him back to London."

"Right, Nick, do your thing now," Eve said, nervously glancing around her.

"I can't," Santa said simply. "I contain the energies; the goodwill of all mankind, but I cannot focus."

"He's not speaking in the third person anymore," Ezekiel helpfully pointed out.

"Is it the hedge magic?" Clara said quickly, Santa nodding. "Then what do we do?" she asked, kneeling down in front of him. "Tell us what to do."

Santa hesitated, before speaking, his ancient eyes becoming filled with pain. "I possess the power but not the will to deliver the gift," he said tiredly, "we need a new vessel. Someone else must channel the power, becoming Santa for just this night." His gaze travelled over them all, before settling on Eve, his expression almost pleading. "There's no guarantee a mortal would survive the process," he then said, bowing his head, "but it has to be someone bound to Christmas, a child born on the last stroke of midnight, so named by her parents as the girl born on Christmas" -

\- "Eve," Eve finished, looking dazed.

Santa just smiled sadly at her, the others falling back, recognizing they had no place in this.

Without a word, Eve held out her hands, spreading them wide, before pressing her palms against Santa's, closing her eyes, letting the magic wash over her, becoming its vessel, becoming Christmas itself, and somewhere far away, a clock struck twelve, echoing through eternity.

 _We swam among the northern lights  
And hid beyond the edge of night  
Waiting for the dawn to come  
And sang a song to save us all..._


	7. Thinking Out Loud

**Thinking Out Loud**

The sound of an old sixties track drifted up from below, making Jenkins long for the time he'd been a hippy, dying being a simple step on the ladder of life, not the hoo-ha it was now. Eve's surprise birthday party was in full swing, but Clara was conspicuously absent, slipping away at the first chance she got, her thoughts with Flynn, making her heart twist in her chest.

"So you met Dulaque then," he said to Clara, who was sitting on the edge of Flynn's desk, swinging her legs to and fro.

"Yes," she said quietly, imagining Dulaque walking the corridors of her childhood, retracing the path of her past.

"And he's living in your old house," Jenkins said, brow furrowing, not realising he was reading her mind. "How singularly strange."

"I know," Clara snapped. "I hate him, and I hate the idea of him living there. It's - it's wrong!"

Jenkins studied her, repressing his pleasure at her almost immature vehemence. Whatever it was that disturbed her so about Dulaque, her hatred would protect her from him. Jenkins had come to accept that Clara was Clara, and not Guinevere, even if didn't lessen his dislike of Clara any. But he hated Dulaque, and so did she, and it would prove a common ground for them to meet upon, perhaps even fight from when the time came, a time which Jenkins was sure would come.

"I think Dulaque was behind the debacle of the Labyrinth," Jenkins suggested hesitantly, "although of course there's no proof" –

\- "It's not like we need any," Clara said, bowing her head, effectively cutting that conversation off.

"Santa is recovering," Jenkins then said, making Clara glance up at him. "Gretchen's feeding him up like a pig being raised to slaughter."

"Thank you for that mental image," Clara said, trying to shake off the idea of Santa serving as the centrepiece of a banquet, an apple shoved into his mouth, Henry VIII roistering somewhere in the background.

"Well, he's on the road to recovery, with no small thanks to Eve," Jenkins said irritably, straightening his bow-tie.

"Eve was amazing," Clara said quietly.

Jenkins just cleared his throat, not wanting to compliment the Colonel.

"I saw Flynn," Clara then said, raising her head.

"Yeah, he called," Jenkins said, folding his arms across his chest. "Said he had a hit and run with Santa's sleigh. Made him crash into Harry Potter or something. But he's alive - Flynn, I mean, not Harry Potter."

"I have a boyfriend who rides flying broomsticks," Clara said, sounding slightly dazed.

"And I have an aunt who owns a pair of talking knitting needles," Jenkins said dourly. "Deal with it."

Clara just looked at him, eyes narrowing.

"Why aren't you celebrating the day of Colonel Baird's birth?" Jenkins said, narrowing his eyes back at her.

"I baked the cake," Clara said, dropping her gaze to the ground. "I've done my part."

"Well, you should be there," Jenkins snapped.

"I don't want to be," Clara said, "I don't do surprise birthday parties."

"The others would want you there" -

\- "You know what, I'm going home," Clara said, standing up. "Christmas or not, I'm calling it a night."

Jenkins watched her leave, before shaking his head and retreating to the upper storey, seeking the company of some red wine and sonnets. Outside, Clara stood on the top of the Annex steps, the moon high above her, the snow falling thick and fast now. Everything was strangely still and quiet, as though the world was holding its breath. The moment was almost sacred, making Clara seek shelter in the shadows, not wanting to desecrate it with her presence. Then somebody took her hand, making her whirl around, only to see Flynn, slightly windblown, but Flynn all the same.

"Oh, it's you," Clara said, winding her arms around his neck.

"It's me alright," Flynn grinned, his lips finding hers, the snow falling all around them.

 _Take me into your loving arms  
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars  
Place your head on my beating heart  
I'm thinking out loud  
Maybe we found love right where we are…_

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone that read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story, particularly **Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967**. The sequel, _Sure As Sin,_ can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile.


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